


Pawprints

by tortuosity



Series: Every Storm a Serenade [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-22 18:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortuosity/pseuds/tortuosity
Summary: A little story about a girl and her dog and a girl.Takes place between Chapter 14 ("Dressed to Suppress") and Chapter 16 ("Dust to Dust") of Songs of the Pirate Queen. Rated for language.





	Pawprints

Hawke loved her dog. 

But that was the Fereldan stereotype, wasn’t it? Dog lovers. A pejorative amongst foreigners, but Fereldans took it in stride, wore it as a badge of honor. It seemed like everyone she knew had at least one dog—noisy hunting hounds, tiny lap dogs, clever herders, stoic guard dogs.

Not everyone had a mabari, though.

Her family had talked about getting one for years, ever since Hawke was a girl. Her parents argued about it endlessly. Mother wasn’t against dogs, per se, she just didn’t understand the need to have something the size of a small pony tracking mud and drool and fur throughout the house.

“They’re Fereldan,” Father said, as if that was all the argument he needed. “They should have a mabari.”

Years went by and the dog stayed a dream.

Until Father died. Then Hawke went out and got a dog herself, because taking care of something felt more productive than hiding in her room and crying all day.

She still remembered the moment she picked him out. The kennel in Lothering had a new batch of puppies. She knew, because she kept track of every litter, every year, since the day they moved to the village.

Though, in retrospect, perhaps he knew he was meant to be hers. Hawke was aware of the process of imprinting, in theory, but she didn’t know what it was supposed to look like. “The mabari chooses you,” her father told her, but it wasn’t like they could talk. All she saw were seven wriggling puppies in a pen, all soft downy fur and chubby wrinkles, and all she wanted was to take every single one of them home with her that very instant.

Hawke plopped down in the middle of the pack, immediately surrounded by warm puppy breath and sharp puppy teeth. The mabari pups treated her like their personal mountain, climbing into her lap, balancing their front paws against her back, tumbling over her legs. And Hawke felt tears welling in her eyes then, despite the smile on her face. It was the first time she had felt happy in months.

Eventually, the puppies grew bored of her, as is their wont, and waddled off to the other end of the kennel to play with each other or pile together for a nap.

But one puppy stayed. He (Hawke checked) wasn’t quite as rambunctious as the others, choosing to gently gnaw on her fingers before settling into her lap, grumbling softly at invisible monsters as he drifted off to sleep. Hawke thought perhaps it was just her imagination, but he seemed to understand what she needed. Something kind, something calm. Something that wouldn’t leave.

“It looks like that’s the one,” the kennelmaster said, and she was right.

Hawke came home that afternoon with a puppy in her arms, ready for a fight. But Mother just looked at the puppy, looked at Hawke, and sighed.

“Oh, Marian,” she said, and that was all she said.

His name was Brutus. Hawke thought that sounded like a strong, fierce name, and though Brutus had his moments of strength and ferocity, it was mostly a misnomer. In truth, he was a silly, floppy dope who loved cuddling and was terrified of water, and Hawke loved him.

Hawke didn’t expect Isabela to like her dog. 

Isabela didn’t seem like a dog person. She didn’t seem like an animal person in general, though, if pressed, Hawke would assume she was more into cats. Pets, she had told Hawke, were not often found on pirate ships. They would have the occasional cat or terrier aboard for rat control, if needed, but they weren’t pets. To call them pets, she said, implied attachment, and “one would be wise not to get attached to anything on a ship.”

Hawke found that a touch hypocritical, coming from her, but wasn’t about to point that out.

Isabela, however, despite all her grumbling, seemed to have taken a shine to Brutus. While Hawke was stuck miles and miles underground on that Maker-forsaken expedition, Isabela apparently went to Gamlen’s house every day to walk the dog. This little fact remained unknown to Hawke until Mother mentioned it in passing not long after the expedition, while they were returning from yet another trip to the viscount’s, another exhausting attempt to win back the estate.

“Who is that friend of yours? The Rivaini woman?” Mother had asked.

“Isabela? What about her?” Just hearing her name made Hawke’s stomach turn itself inside-out. She had been desperately trying to avoid Isabela since that bloody stupid breakdown the night she came back from the Deep Roads.

If Mother noticed Hawke’s discomfort, she didn’t show it. “I was just thinking I hadn’t seen her in a while. She stopped by every day to walk Brutus while you were gone, you know.”

“That’s… interesting.”

It was hard to picture. Isabela had only met Brutus once, the night before Hawke left for the expedition, and though he seemed fine with her, and she him, it didn’t fit. Isabela didn’t _do_ things like that.

But that was how it was with her, wasn’t it? Hawke always found herself thinking _this is it, I’ve got her figured out_ and then, as if she knew, Isabela would surprise her, flip her world upside-down, leave Hawke utterly discombobulated. She was a puzzle Hawke could never hope to solve, because the pieces kept changing, because the picture kept changing, because maybe all the pieces weren’t being openly shared from the start. 

No matter what their friends said behind closed doors, Hawke knew there was more to Isabela than the self-centered, blasé persona she wore like a shield. She could be sweet. She could be considerate. And if Hawke told that to anyone else, she would be laughed out of the room, but a selfish bitch didn’t do what Isabela did. They didn’t gift a copy of their favorite book to someone grieving. They didn’t visit every day after that to make sure that someone was fine. They didn’t walk that someone’s dog.

But maybe Hawke was just smitten.

Brutus liked her, though. That had to count for something, didn’t it? He was an excellent judge of character, after all.

Hawke arrived home one afternoon to silence. She expected some degree of quiet; Bodahn and Sandal were gone for the next few days—only due to her insistence that she could, in fact, keep the estate from exploding in their absence. Still, even without Bodahn’s greeting echoing through the foyer, there was a distinct lack of barking, of paws thundering down the stairs, of any general sounds of canine glee. 

Fighting to keep her suspicion from boiling over into fear, Hawke took several deep breaths and glanced around the first floor. No indication of forced entry. No blood spatters or any other signs of struggle. She was a target, it was true. More fame and more wealth meant more enemies by the day. And if someone wanted to hurt her, if someone wanted to destroy what little good remained in her life, break the last shreds holding her together… stealing or harming Brutus would be the way to do it. 

But he wouldn’t go out without a fight, she reminded herself, even as her chest began to tighten, thumbscrews in her ribs. Maybe he was just in her room sleeping. Maybe he didn’t hear her come in.

Hawke walked upstairs, calling his name, and it was like the estate had swallowed her voice. Naught but eerie silence in return, nothing but ghosts.

Just as panic threatened to fully incapacitate her, she noticed a single sheet of parchment on her desk, held down by a brass candle-holder. A sheet of parchment that wasn’t there when she left that morning. With shaking hands, she picked it up.

_Hawke—_

_I had a sudden fit of insanity and bought Brutus a toy while I was in Hightown this morning. If he’s not here by the time you get back, we’re still in the gardens testing it out. Come join us if you want. Or stay home and keep the bed warm for me. Up to you._

__

_—I_

Underneath Isabela’s extravagantly scrawled first initial was a red smudge. Hawke peered closer at it and smiled. A kiss.

Hawke was so relieved she almost forgot she had absolutely, positively locked the door this morning. But she could forgive Isabela for breaking into her house. Not like a simple lock—or, rather, the most expensive lock Hawke’s gold could buy—had ever kept that woman out of anything she wanted into.

Setting the letter back on the desk, Hawke immediately left for Hightown’s gardens. No way was she going to miss whatever shenanigans those two were getting into.

She heard them before she saw them. That barking, of course, was unmistakable, though it was slightly muffled, as though Brutus had something in his mouth. And though the barking threatened to drown them out, there were also the equally unmistakable sounds of one extremely frustrated former pirate captain.

Peering around the corner of the viscount’s keep, Hawke watched as Brutus dashed around Isabela, something furry flopping around between his teeth. He would approach, she would reach for the toy, he would spring away. Eventually, Isabela stopped trying, planting her fists on her hips and staring at the sky in a silent plea for divine intervention.

“Do you do this with Hawke, too?” she asked, more accusation than inquiry. 

Brutus woofed and dropped his front half to the ground while wiggling his back half in the air, nub of a tail a blur.

“It’s fetch! _Fetch!_ Not the ‘keep away from Isabela’ game. You know what fetch is, don’t you? You have to give the toy back so I can throw it. That’s how this works.”

The mabari sat barely out of arm’s reach, studying Isabela’s tirade with his head cocked to the side.

“I know you understand me, so don’t pretend you’re a dumb dog like all the rest.”

Hawke couldn’t quite hear the response, but it sounded like Brutus whined, ears tilting back towards his skull, offended by the comparison.

“If you give it back to me, I can throw it. And then you can chase it, and catch it, and bring it back again. Maybe we can even play a little tug of war with it. Fun, right? But you have to _give_ it to me first.” Isabela spoke slowly, ticking each point off on her fingers, trying to appeal to Brutus with what was surely flawless logic.

Brutus, apparently convinced, laid down on the flagstones, spitting a very soggy-looking bit of fur and rope out between his front paws.

“Okay, that’s not _quite_ what ‘giving it back’ means, but I’m not unreasonable. I can work with this.”

Isabela walked the three steps toward Brutus while he watched her from the ground, eyes bright and tail wagging. She crouched down and cautiously reached for the toy. Just as her fingers brushed it, he snatched it back in his jaws and danced away, letting loose a flurry of cheerful barks.

“You horrible beast! You conniving, spoiled hound! You... _bloody fucking dog!"_ Isabela threw her hands up, turning her back on Brutus in time to see Hawke strolling around the corner, pretending to not have witnessed the entire exchange.

“Are you insulting my beloved pet?” Hawke asked, struggling to keep her balance as Brutus greeted her with an exuberant bodyslam.

Isabela was dangerously close to pouting. “I tried asking politely. I tried ordering. I even tried _pleading_.” She shook her head and glared at Brutus, who had since ducked behind Hawke for protection. “Insubordination! Mutiny! He listens about as well as his master.”

“I have _no_ idea _what_ you’re talking about. He listens just fine for me.” Hawke held her hand out. “Brutus, may I see what you have, please?”

Brutus slunk out from behind her, sat, and respectfully deposited the toy into Hawke’s hand, as sure as any hunting dog returning a downed duck. The slobber immediately coating her palm was worth it for the expression on Isabela’s face.

Definitely pouting now. “Well, of course he would listen to _you_ ,” Isabela scoffed, rolling her eyes.

If it was possible, Hawke would say Brutus looked exceptionally smug about the whole situation.

Cocking her arm back, Hawke threw the toy as hard as she could. Brutus dashed after it, plunging into some shrubbery at the other end of the gardens. She ignored the disapproving scowls shot her way by the other Hightown denizens meandering about the plaza. One would think they’d be used to it by now.

“You know,” Hawke said, sliding her non-drenched hand around Isabela’s waist, “when I came home to an empty estate, I did not expect it to be because you were out playing with my dog.”

“Why not?” Isabela shrugged. “He’s a good boy. When he’s not being a brat, anyway.”

Brutus returned, toy in mouth, and nudged Isabela’s hand, looking almost contrite about his earlier behavior. She attempted to ignore him, turning away and crossing her arms, but only managed to keep the act up for a few seconds before the power of Brutus’s sulking won her over. With a huff, she took the toy from him and hurled it, and maybe she didn’t mean for it to land directly in the path of Countess Dufort and her paramour, but knowing Isabela, she almost certainly did. The Countess’s ear-piercing screech when Brutus barreled into her sent a nearby flock of pigeons flapping away into the sky.

“He likes you,” Hawke told her, purposely avoiding the Countess’s murderous glare.

“How can you tell?” Isabela asked, even as Brutus grunted and headbutted her, knocking her back on her heels. “Okay, yes. Thank you, Brutus. I like you, too.”

“How can I tell? You didn’t know?” Hawke shared a conspiratorial glance with her mabari. “All Fereldans can read dogs’ minds.”

There was a split second where Isabela’s eyes narrowed, as if she was truly considering it, but then she laughed, swatting Hawke on the shoulder. 

“You are so full of shit.” She pulled Hawke closer, her smile shifting—as it always did—from playful to wicked. “Come here, let’s make the Countess uncomfortable.”

Hawke loved her dog. And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to love Isabela, too.


End file.
